Job, schmob – I need a career…

It’s a big decision. It could make me look bad. Do I tell you about it? Do I risk public humiliation? Do I undermine everything I said in my “I should of got my spelling write” post? To hell with it, why not.

I’ve done something bad.

Very…bad.

In the midst of a spectacularly boring day at work (I was subtitling an episode of Jeremy Kyle called something like, “Are you the father of my sister’s baby?” and Kyle was being even more self-righteous than usual) I applied slightly halfheartedly for a job I didn’t especially want. It was a copywriting role, admittedly, which is one of the things I want to do (hooray) but it was underpaid and not in a sector I’m interested in. It was one of those “apply for the hell of it” jobs, to stop me crawling up the walls. So what’s so bad about that? Well, let’s take my first sentence, shall we?

“I wish to apply for the position of Copwriter which I saw advertised on…”

Copwriter.

Now, much as I do have desires to write a rollicking good thriller when I retire, I’m not sure that an insurance company in Colchester is going to be very interested in that. I did spot my error immediately after I hit send and emailed them to correct myself, but by then the damage had inevitably been done.

So what’s my lesson? Well, there are two: take my own obvious but useful advice and check my spelling before I hit send and, importantly, only apply for jobs I give a monkey’s about. Lesson learnt.

About

Always thinking...

A light-hearted (but also quite serious) rant, moan and deeply philosophical observations related to my utter failure at finding a career. Ashley Morrison is a writer, editor and career-seeker. He’s above average intelligence, below average height, and off the scale in his ability to write convincingly about anything and nothing.